


Blue Sunshine and Golden Rain

by AquaMarinara



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Minor implied/referenced self-harm, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-11-23 02:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11393877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaMarinara/pseuds/AquaMarinara
Summary: Betty is Editor in Chief of renowned newspaper The Blue and Gold. Her life is seemingly perfect, but as she befriends her latest intern, Jellybean Jones, the world will finally get to see the dark underbelly of Betty Cooper's past.orAn angsty story about how Betty and Jughead found each other and helped each other heal emotional and physical wounds (plus some much-needed Jellybean and Betty bonding).





	1. The Intern

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags mentioned, this is my first fan-fiction story. I’m just trying to get the hang of posting on Ao3 so if there are any formatting mistakes, please let me know and I will try to fix them. I was hoping this would be a slow burn, but we’ll see how it goes. The rating may change as I write more of the story and updates will be fairly irregular.
> 
> I edited this myself, so there are bound to be some errors. Any comments, questions, or suggestions are greatly appreciated.

Betty huffs as she sinks her fingers into the backrest of the swivel chair in front of her. They would’ve pierced through the leather had she kept her nails at a decent length, but Betty was always good at planning ahead. She points one of her short nails at a blonde man in the back of the conference room, “Any updates on the drought in California? We should cover that. Its effects on people, the economy, morale.”

“Sorry, Betty, we haven’t heard anything back from Langdon.”

She was running low on ideas. The October issue needed to be planned and laid out by the end of the week, and yet none of her stories were coming out. This Monday morning meeting is a disaster.

“Kevin?” she asks, hoping that her fashion editor and long-time friend won’t let her down.

“Chokers are finally dying out. Which is sad, because that should’ve been news a long time ago.”

Betty sighs. “That’s not the story I’m looking for, Kev. Anybody have anything? We have a whole issue to fill up and nothing so far. Yes, we have the story on the new litter of puppies at the shelter, and I guess we can throw in a small bit about chokers, but this is a newspaper. I want NEWS.”

A small hand shoots up from behind the row of swivel chairs stationed at the oval table. “Will the young lady in the back with her hand raised please stand up? I can’t exactly see you,” Betty asks from the front of the room.

As she rises, Betty sees the rest of the body attached to the raven head of hair. The girl is petite, but not in the way that makes you think she is cute. She has fire in her eyes and it enraptures everyone in the room.

“My brother’s book signing is Wednesday. I can get us an exclusive interview.”

Finally, some kind of a story. It wouldn’t be a typical front-page eye-catcher, but it would do. “That sounds like a great idea. Toni,” Betty points at a curly-haired blonde in the back corner, “you’ll take that interview. Thank you so much, umh…” Betty had prided herself on being a great boss, someone who cared about the employees enough to know them personally, so how come she can’t remember this girl’s name?

“JB.” Betty smiles at the nickname as the girl sits down. She must be an intern, too spirited and spunky to have been swimming in the shark tank of journalism for long.

Betty was cleaning off the whiteboard as the reporters filed out of the room, most of them still groggy despite it being 9:00 a.m. “Betty?” a voice questions behind her. “I was wondering if I could interview my brother myself. He’s a little closed off to most people and would come across as snarky, or even rude, to others. But with me he opens up. He laughs and smiles and would definitely give us some more insider information about the book than he would any other media outlet.” Her words seem pleading, but her face is set. Her lips form a thin line as she squares her shoulders and stares Betty down. Betty uncurls her fingers and smiles at the young woman in front of her, a young woman who knows what she wants, one with a passion that resembles Betty’s.

“Of course you can be the one to interview him. I’ll send Toni out to interview the chef at the new restaurant in town instead. Have you ever interviewed anyone before?”

JB’s resolve fades as she sheepishly looks up at the blonde in front of her, “No,” she replies softly.

“That’s fine, it’ll just require some more work from me to mentor you.” Betty runs through her calendar in her head, “If you can have the questions ready by tomorrow we can go over them during my lunch break at Pop’s. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” the brunette smiles as she turns out of the large conference room. Betty recoils at the word.

~~~

As soon as Jughead walks into his apartment he can hear Pink Floyd escaping the confines of Jellybean’s bedroom. “Turn that down, Jelly, the neighbors are going to file a complaint!” he yells through her door as he turns down to fall into their dingy living room couch. The pillows haven’t been washed in ages and thousands of dog hairs go flying into the air as he collapses onto them.

“Since when are you my dad?” the spunky twenty year old questions as she shuts the bedroom door behind her and walks by him.

“Since I was ten,” he replies with a sad smile on his face. He began taking care of her when their mom moved out and their dad fell back into his cycle of alcoholism: get angry, go drinking, come home, get more angry, and go back to the bar. It hadn’t ended until he went to prison.

“Ya, well you can stop now,” she sings to him as she pulls out two tall milkshake glasses from the cupboard. “See, I’m old enough to where I can even cook you dinner,” she points to the counter in front of her where she’s laid out enough burgers and fries to feed a horde of elephants.

“You got those at Pop’s,” he quips as he starts setting the table.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t; you’ll never know,” she whispers mysteriously as she passes by him to get ketchup from the fridge.

“Really?” His eyebrow arches as he pulls a plastic bag that has an orange Pop’s written across it out of the garbage.

“That was there yesterday,” she whines in defense.

“Keep lying to yourself.”

After a beat, JB resumes her plan. “So, Juggie, how’s the party planning coming along?”

He looks at her quizzically. “You already know I don’t want to go to the signing. Sure, I want to meet some fans and maybe hear some praise, I don’t get enough of it at home,” he finally smiles at his little joke, “but parties aren’t my scene. I never liked any of them. Not birthday parties, not frat parties, not even your tea parties.” She looks at him like he just told her the tooth fairy doesn’t exist. “Sorry to break it to you, Jelly.”

“Maybe if I come you’ll be a little more inclined to attend your own party.” She says, smiling into her plate.

“Won’t you be busy at that job? The one at the newspaper. I don’t know why you took it. Go work at the record store. Vinyls are your passion, not articles.”

“I’m happy at the newspaper. In fact, they gave me my first assignment today.” Excitedly, she continues, “I’m interviewing you at your book signing!”

Jughead’s face falls. “So that’s what the Pop’s is for? A bribe to get me to agree to an interview?”

“Did it work?” she asks through a mouthful of milkshake.

He can’t say no to her, or the food. “Of course. Congrats on your first story,” he replies as he reaches for more fries, and she smiles.


	2. Stranded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it hasn't even been a day since I uploaded the first chapter, but I'm on a roll. Most updates won't be nearly this quick. In fact, life will be getting in the way for the next week so don't expect too much.
> 
> But, anyways, thank you to everyone who read the last chapter and left Kudos. This fandom is so great!

Betty stares at JB’s lunch as it sits across from her: A milkshake, cheeseburger, and some home-style fries. The two had met up at Pop’s to discuss the interview during Betty’s much-needed lunch break. She had been starving, and yet now a small salad is in front of her, not the hearty meal she desired. It’s good for you, Betty. You need to keep your weight low and waist slim! Her mother’s shrill voice shouts at her from her childhood. Betty waves the waitress down and orders a side of fries to match JB’s. She smiles, proud of herself for slowly breaking free of her mother’s chains, and JB hands her the questions she typed up.

“How has your childhood influenced this story? Are there any direct parallels to your life? If so, what are they?” she reads aloud as a hot bowl of fries is plopped in front of her. Betty pushes the salad aside and looks up. “If you could get that kind of information out of him, it would be great. I doubt most authors would be willing to get so personal, so just be weary of that. Then again, you are his sister. And I read the book; if there were any parallels, you guys must’ve had one messed up life.”

JB snorts and almost chokes on her milkshake, causing Betty to sit up in alarm. “Are you alright?” she asks, her voice gaining a soft and concerned tone, one her mother never used around her.

“I’m fine. It’s just that—you’re right. We did have a messed up childhood. If Juggie won’t admit it, I’ll write about it for him.”

“Juggie?” Betty asks in surprise at the name. It’s not like she doesn’t find it endearing, it just catches her off guard.

“Yeah. His name is Jughead, but I call him Juggie for short. Even though Jughead isn’t his real name either. The real one’s even worse. Same with me.” She slurps up some of her remaining milkshake. “My real name sucks, so I go by Jellybean, or JB in more professional settings,” she smiles.

Betty’s gaze returns to the paper in her hands: “Is there going to be a sequel? If so, will it deliver the happy ending that the first novel ripped out of our hearts?” She laughs at this one. “Nice wording, Jellybean.” As she reaches for another fry, she skims over the rest of the questions. “They’re great. You didn’t use too many yes or no questions, which is a mistake a lot of beginners make. Hopefully he’ll like the questions enough to answer them and leave his so-called snarky-ness at the door.” She winks at JB and then checks her watch, panicking at how late she is. Throwing a couple bills on the table, she rushes out of the diner with a quick, “Goodbye and good luck!”

~~~

Betty is listening to Rusted Root’s “Send Me On My Way” on her daily jog along Sweetwater River when the chorus is interrupted by the shrill tone of her phone ringing. She presses the small button on her headphones to answer and immediately a loud, secure voice floods her ears.

“How’s your run? I don’t know how you do it, Betts. Wear all those lousy workout clothes, I mean. Knowing you, you’re wearing old leggings and a ratty t-shirt you bought in high school and never wore again.” Betty looks down at her outfit. Veronica’s right. How did she always know? The voice belonging to Betty’s best friend continues on her rampage, “If you’re going to be so bold as to even go outside and exercise, at least do it the right way.” She pauses as a thought occurs to her. “Are you even wearing lip gloss?!” she shouts through the phone.

“Yes, Veronica, because lip gloss is essential to cardio training.” The sarcasm travels through the phone, along with Betty’s heavy breathing.

“Why of course it is, Betty. I don’t know how you survive without it.”

“I hope you yell at Cheryl about lip gloss as much as you do to me. Then I’ll know that it’s not personal.”

“Ugh, of course I yell at Cheryl,” she whines. “Her lips are always so chapped because she never wears gloss, or even chapstick. It’s always those quick-dry matte red lipsticks with her. At least she’s easy to shop for.”

Betty laughs as she continues down the rugged path. The steady flow of the water focuses her mind and she stares straight ahead, not caring about the ache in her legs. In fact, she kind of enjoys the pain.

“Anyway, B, I called because I have an interesting proposition to make. I know you need a break from work. Kevin called to tell me that you got a little demanding at the morning meeting yesterday. And when Kevin calls to talk to me about work, of all things, it’s serious.”

“And?” Betty asks in between breaths.

“And I was thinking that you can come with me to this book signing tomorrow afternoon. It’s at Arcade Bookstore in Greendale. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. FP Jones III is coming in to talk about his book, Hell Is Other People. I haven’t read it—too doom and gloom for me. But I’m sure you have!”

“Ronnie, why would you of all people want to go to a book signing so badly? Especially in Greendale.”

Betty hears an exasperated sigh on the other end. “Mom is thinking of buying out the bookstore. She says it’s the perfect plot of land to place another one of her boutiques. My first question, and certainly not my last question, is who’s going to buy designer clothes in Greendale? But she’s making me go check it out anyway. And there’s this book signing tomorrow, so I thought it would be a good way to kill two birds with one stone. I go visit the goddamn bookstore and you get to meet a cool author! And, don’t even tell me to ask Cheryl. You know she would never come.”

The trail comes to an abrupt end at the “Welcome to Riverdale, the town with pep!” sign and Betty turns around. “I guess I’ll go. I have a new reporter interviewing FP tomorrow anyway, so I might as well check on her.” Veronica squeals on the other side of the phone, and Betty looks up as the sky darkens above her. “V, I have to go. If I want to get back home before the rain I have to save my breath for something other than this conversation.”

“Sure, B. Bye!” Veronica shouts as she hangs up, clearly excited at her victory. The rain begins to fall slowly and droplets splash against the dirt trail, mucking up her shoes. Squirrels scurry up their trees, likely sensing the impending flood of the river. Betty racks her brain, trying to think of the closest covered area. The Southside bus stop. Instead of continuing down the path, she takes a sharp right and crosses the bridge over a brook that separates the North and South sides of Riverdale. The bus stop is a few feet away, a small bench covered by a clear plastic awning, both victims of numerous graffiti artists. Betty sits and turns her head to the side, wringing out the water from her pony tail. The rain picks up and Betty pulls her knees to her chest in order to get her soaked shoes off the ground.

A 1977 Ford F150 pickup truck drives past her as the rain continues, splashing her with water from a puddle on the edge of the road. Betty blinks the droplets out of her eyes and stares as the truck begins to back up towards her.

“Need a ride, Princess?” a man with an overly-dark aesthetic questions from the driver’s seat. She can’t make out his features too well, but she can see that he’s wearing a dark, oddly-shaped beanie and that his defined cheekbones glow in the light from the nearby streetlamp. 

“I’m fine,” Betty calls back, expecting an apology from the man for drenching her—and for calling her Princess. He doesn’t give her one and drives off with a shrug, clearly taking her for her word. Why couldn’t men just know that when a woman says “I’m fine,” it’s not true? Betty shivers as she decides to wait out the rain and lays herself down on the bench. She tries calling Veronica again, but, of course, the raven-haired heiress doesn’t pick up. It’s 9:00 by now, and Ronnie is probably out clubbing where the music is too loud for her to hear her phone. Kevin is definitely with her.

As a last resort, Betty decides to call her mom. She scrolls through her contact list to find “Alice Cooper,” accidentally catching sight of the contact called “Polly Cooper” as she does. Why she hadn’t deleted that contact a long time ago is beyond her, but all of a sudden a pang of guilt hits her, and she doesn’t have the heart to call her mother anymore. So Betty falls asleep on the cold metal bench to the sound of the pattering rain on the sidewalk next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave any comments, questions, or suggestions you have.


	3. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a week (I'm sorry) and I have a lot to say, so I will post a really long A/N at the end of the chapter.
> 
> But I will say one thing: please notice that the tags have changed and will continue to do so as I write more. I will use those to warn of any content that may be triggering to some. That said, I will still try to put warnings before each chapter. For this one, there is some very minor reference to self-harm. Please only read if you are okay with that topic.

Betty can feel the sun rays hitting her eyelids before she even opens her eyes. Which is odd, because she never sleeps with the curtains open. The feeling of cool metal, a texture that is definitely not that of her comfy mattress, penetrates her skin and Betty sits up abruptly, suddenly aware that she isn’t home.

“Morning, dear,” an old lady, one that eerily reminds her of her mother but with whiter hair and a leather jacket, says with a frightening smirk. “Long night?”

"No," Betty breathes out, slowly catching on to the implication of the woman's words. "It was just raining, so I stayed the night here. I couldn't get anyone to come pick me up.” Betty draws her legs to her chest, realizing that her body's position has left very little space on the bench for the woman waiting for the bus.

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I'm the cause of all your troubles." She looks at the ground below her in guilt, not meeting Betty's eyes. "I was teaching Sabrina some cloud-formation tricks, but wasn't paying her enough attention. She's usually really good, you know? But last night she added just a bit too much Monday-morning-mist, and the weather got so out of control!”

Betty smiles at the alliteration, one that almost resembles those she uses, but not before rubbing at her eyes and cleaning out her ears. She must still be dreaming. There is no way an old lady in a black leather jacket is talking to her about how she can control the weather. In fact, when Betty closes her eyes and slowly reopens them, the woman is gone. However, where her feet had been resting on the sidewalk there is a Z.S. burnt into the sidewalk.

Dazed, Betty picks herself up and feels her socks squishing around in her damp sneakers as she crosses the street, aiming to finally make it home. She's almost certain she's late for work, but she has no way of knowing—her phone is dead.

She decides that she'll call the office and take the day off, as she would be leaving early anyway to go to the book signing with Ronnie. Surely they'll let her take the day off; she hasn't missed a day of work since she started at The Blue and Gold.

As she crosses the bridge, the pickup truck from last night stops beside her. "I've never seen you before, and now I've met you twice in as many days. Are you sure you aren't lost?" She thinks she hears some sympathy in his voice, but dismisses it. Don't talk to strangers, Elizabeth.

"I'm fine.” She repeats her words from the previous night.

He snorts, "Are those the only words in the English language that you know? How about 'I' and 'am'? Or do you only know the contraction form?”

She glares at him. That couldn't have been sympathy in his voice earlier. He's too much of a snake to even feel that for others. She doesn't reply, only taking in the figure that is more visible in the daylight. He has a pointed nose and chiseled features, but the most significant aspect of him is his mop of dark hair that falls out from under his beanie. The same one from last night.

“Small vocabulary you got there, Barbie. They complain about bad education here but the schools wherever you’re from must really suck.” He releases the brake slowly and takes off, leaving Betty to sulk. She’s the Editor in Chief of a highly-regarded newspaper and he’s criticizing her vocabulary?!

~~~

“Jug,” JB prods her brother in between autographs. “When do you have some time to talk? For the interview, I mean.”

“Uh uh uh, missy. Any requests for the author go to me first,” Jughead’s agent points a proud finger at himself.

“Get over yourself, Reggie. He’s my brother and the only reason your literary agency is still alive. If he wants to give me an interview, he can. So go take your righteous attitude somewhere else. I’m sure some hot girls are dying to meet FP Jones’s agent.” Reggie immediately recovers from the hurt look on his face at the mention of hot girls and smiles. 

“You’re right, JB. I’m sure they’re here to meet me, not Jug. I’m the hot one.”

JB smirks as Reggie saunters towards a group of girls waiting in line. “Too easy,” she says proudly as Jughead gives her a stern look.

“I know it’s not that hard to take advantage of him, but go easy, ok? If you told him that some hot girl wanted him to jump in front of a train, he would.”

“Fine,” JB huffs in exasperation. “Way to ruin the fun. But back to the interview.”

“Jelly, can’t you see I’m busy right now?” He dismisses her as a girl with dark purple hair moves toward the table. JB catches sight of a smiling blonde a few feet down the line and saunters over to her. A raven-haired girl is standing next to Betty.

“You came! Aren’t you supposed to be at work until later?” JB asks as she pulls Betty into a tight hug. When she had first entered the workforce, everyone told JB to expect a tough time; a tough boss, tough job. But Betty was the complete opposite of what everyone had said about bosses. She cared about the employees at The Blue and Gold, even if they were only interns like JB.

“This one,” Betty replies, pointing to the woman dressed in dark purple next to her, “dragged me here. And I thought it would be fun to meet Jug, as a fan though.” She smiles as she pulls her own copy of Hell Is Other People out of her purse.

JB turns around, hoping to see how much farther until Betty gets to the table where Jughead is, but her view is obscured by a bunch of bookshelves. The line moves up, however, and Jug is finally in the girls’ line of sight. Betty gapes as she immediately recognizes the young man at the table. “THAT is FP Jones?”

“Yup, see you in a bit!” JB walks towards FP as Betty and Veronica turn to look at each other. Betty is biting her bottom lip and her fingers are curling into her palm.

“What’s wrong, B?”

“Nothing. Just um, don’t meet your heroes, I guess. Can we go now? You’ve seen the bookstore.” She reaches for Veronica’s wrist but the raven-haired girl snatches her arm away.

“We’re here now, B. And you just told that intern that you would be there.” She points to the table. The fan in front of them steps up and Betty realizes that she and Veronica are next. “Don’t worry, B. I got this.” Veronica turns on her 100 megawatt smile and saunters over to Jughead when he waves them over. Betty hides behind her petite friend, hoping he doesn’t notice her. “Hi, I’m Veronica Lodge.” She shakes his hand fiercely. “Such a fan. Not as much as my friend Betty here, but close enough. I thought the artwork on the cover of the novel was exquisite. You must give me the artist’s name. He or she would definitely have a job as a designer for Lodge Industries. I mean, what vision!” She shoves the book under his nose and points at the black and white illustration.

“I think I know what my book cover looks like, you don't need to show it to me, but I’ll be sure to pass the compliments on to Joaquin.” He signs the inside cover of her book and writes down Joaquin’s number. She smiles back and puts Betty’s book onto the table.

“Make it out to Betty,” she tells him as the blonde behind her grimaces.

“How about I make it out to Betty, the girl with an extremely limited vocabulary,” he jokes and Veronica looks at him in bewilderment.

“I’ll have you know that Betty is extremely smart, Mr. Jones. I don’t think she could’ve made it to be the Editor in Chief of The Blue and Gold with a ‘limited vocabulary’,” Veronica retorts.

Jughead looks to JB as she jumps up excitedly. “Agh! I can’t hold it in anymore. Jug, meet Betty, my boss and Editor in Chief of The Blue and Gold. She’s the one who gave me the opportunity to interview you.” Betty scowls a bit as she straightens herself out and emerges from behind Veronica. 

“Jelly, I thought we agreed to let me be ‘just a fan’ for today.”

“I’m sorry, Betty. But I just know you guys are going to get along so well!”

“I doubt it. Good luck with your interview,” Betty shouts over her shoulder as she swipes her book off the table, leaving a trail of blood from her palms on the hardwood surface. JB stares at it in alarm, unsure of how to react. Veronica, on the other hand, runs out of the store behind her.

She’s panting as she catches up to her best friend. “Hey! B, wait, please. These heels were not made to run in. Are you okay?” She reaches her side but the blonde continues to look straight ahead of her as she walks.

“I’m fine.”

She chuckles, “I know that isn’t true. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?! What’s wrong is that I was hoping to go in that bookstore today to meet an amazing author, the brother of one of my recent friends from work, and have a perfect day.” She says the last part in a mocking tone and snarls. “Instead, I find the guy that was rude to me both last night and this morning.”

The heiress stops in her tracks. “Dang, B. That sucks. He did seem a bit cold—rude to put it plainly. I’m sorry for dragging you along with me, but I can make it up to you! How does dinner at Pop’s sound?” Veronica looks at Betty, knowing that she’s just made an offer the blonde can’t refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about my super long A/N's--I just have a lot to say.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, read, and left Kudos on my fic. It really means a lot to me.
> 
> I wasn't able to update because I was away, but updates will be more frequent (however irregular) now that I'm back.
> 
> I have been trying to make the chapters longer, but so far that hasn't really happened. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> I realized that the story might be a bit confusing because of the switch in character perspectives. So I just wanted to clarify that it is written in 3rd person omniscient and the character perspective changes depending on the chapter and section of the fic .
> 
> If you haven't figured it out yet, this is an AU. Juggie and Betts had never met before. As for the rest of their pasts and what happened to their family and friends before the story takes place, hopefully we'll get to that soon.
> 
> Does anyone know how to get italicized font to stay in italics when I transfer it to Ao3? I haven't been able to figure out that aspect of the formatting yet.
> 
> As always, any feedback is appreciated.


	4. The Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'm officially the worst at updating. Even though I don't love this chapter, it's been way too long, so I'm posting it anyway. Let's hope my writer's block doesn't come back and that the next chapter will be up soon.

Jellybean stares in horror as a 10 year-old boy plops his copy of _Hell is Other People_ onto the table, oblivious of the fact that its back cover will now be stained with blood. _Betty’s blood,_ she reminds herself. The woman who had been nothing but nice to her, had taken her under her wing, and had given JB her first opportunity to write for the paper. Sure, JB had noticed the tension in Betty’s fingers at particularly stressful meetings, but she had never expected so much anxiety to be bubbling beneath the surface.

Jughead, on the other hand, has moved on. He’s scribbling his signature into the final few fans’ books as JB finally sits back down, fearfully of fainting from the shock. “Jug,” she hisses into his ear as he hands the last novel back to its owner.

“I know. It’s bad,” he replies as his bony fingers swipe across the table, trying to clean it.

“You can’t get rid of blood, Jug. Don’t even try. And it’s not just bad, it’s horrible.” JB watches the stragglers slip through the bookstore exit, now allowing her to scream at her dingus of a brother at full volume. “What the fuck did you say to her, Jug? Based off of her reaction, I’m guessing you’ve met before, and it didn’t go well.”

He turns towards her now, eyes still averted. “I may or may not have offered her a ride home from the Southside twice over the last 36 hours. And she may or may not have declined my offer both times.”

“So? How is that any excuse to pick on the poor girl?” JB can feel her face turning bright red as the volcanic anger churning in her stomach spreads to the rest of her body. “She rejected your offers; get over yourself, who wouldn’t? Some creep in a sketchy old Ford drives up to you, asking you to hop in for a fun ride home. Wouldn’t you run for the hills?!”

“I know that, JB. It was a joke, or at least, I meant it that way.”

“Oh my poor delusional brother,” JB covers his arm with her skinny hand, her voice taking on a sarcastically sympathetic tone. “You thought most people understood your self-depreciating humor. Well, they don’t.” Her eyes turn icy as the lines of her face harden. “You need to apologize to Betty as soon as possible: flowers, chocolate, whatever it takes.”

~~~

“Sorry, Betty, but I was told to repeat her words exactly.” There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “She stated, and I quote, ‘Elizabeth Cooper, get your ass down to the office right this instant, or you will have to find yourself another job.’” Midge’s voice quiets as she repeats Alice Cooper’s unprofessional word choices. Having worked for Alice long enough, Midge had learned not to disobey the boss. If you didn’t follow her orders to a T, you’d be searching the newspapers for any job listings within the next half hour.

“Tell mom I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Betty presses the red button on her phone as she lugs herself out of bed. Being the newspaper owner’s daughter didn’t come with any special privileges; if anything, Betty was held to higher standards than all other employees. Dinner with Ron and Cheryl had helped calm her down, but she had been hoping to stay home today. Maybe she would even stay home for the foreseeable future. JB would be working there, sitting across from Betty as she had been for the last few days. Whereas JB had been a reassuring presence, she was now a reminder of the day where Betty had let herself slip. She had finally given into her harmful tendencies after all those years of therapy and progress.

However, Alice Cooper would never let her perfect daughter admit defeat. Betty had already begged her mother for a day off yesterday, she wouldn’t get out of going to work again.

Betty pulls up in front of the iron gates of the building. The black wrought iron spells out _Alice_ , and not _The Blue in Gold,_ in an effort to remind visitors of the true star of the show. Every morning, employees read the sign and take notice of the name on it. Betty, on the other hand, takes notice of the name that is not on there: Cooper. Of course, her mother would never give Hal any credit for the success of _The Blue and Gold,_ even if the newspaper had initially been created just to spite Alice’s ex-husband and his own paper, _The Register_.

As per usual, Betty is welcomed with thousands of angry messages, most of which are signed by her mother. The top one is written in all caps: COME UP TO MY OFFICE NOW.

Sighing, Betty thanks Midge for the memos and she takes the stairs up to the fifth floor. In Alice Cooper fashion, the building has no elevator. _You’ve got to stay in shape, Elizabeth._

“You’ve arrived,” her mother dryly notes as Betty slowly steps through the doorway.

“What’s the problem, mother?” Betty asks as she pulls her phone out of her pocket, braving herself for the storm.

“Some reporter, I think his name was Dilton,” she pronounces his name as Dill-ton,”quit. Told Midge that he didn’t want to be writing scandalous news articles about the Blossoms anymore, or something like that. Anyway, the important thing is that we need to find a new writer.”

Betty’s shoulders soften at her mother’s words. There was no disaster of epic proportions; Alice was just being her dramatic self.

“We’ll put an ad in the next issue and I’ll see if I know anyone from college willing to come here and work.” Betty smiles her award-winning smile at her mother and turns around to walk out of the office, unwilling to submit herself to any more time with Alice. She walks down the tight and windowless corridor to her own office, spotting JB and an array of flowers as she approaches it.

JB comes rushing forward and tugs the blonde towards her for a hug, “I’m so sorry, Betty. I mean, I knew he could be a dick, but I didn’t know he was that much of an asshat. And I know that it doesn’t matter anymore, but I just wanted to tell you that he didn’t really mean what he said. You’re the most intelligent, badass woman I know, Betty. Don’t let his idiocy get to you.”

Betty pulls herself away from the embrace and walks over to her desk chair, sinking into its rigid leather backing as much as she can as she sits down. “Thank you, so much, for the apology, JB. But you’re not responsible for what your brother said or did.”

“I know. That’s why he came to apologize too!” JB’s young eyes light up as she waves Jughead inside the office. Betty frantically sits up in her chair, attempting to compose herself in the split second where Jughead’s gaze travels from the wooden floor to the blonde’s face.

He seems almost nervous, and definitely not as arrogant as he had in his car, when he says, “As JB already told you, I’m an idiot. I thought I was being funny, I guess, and decided to joke about the fact that you used the same two-word answer both times that I asked if you needed a ride home.”

“Why would that be funny, Jug-head?” Betty takes a page from her mother’s book and splits his name up, making her voice sound hardened and aloof.

“I really don’t know; I have an extremely odd sense of humor. And as terrible as my apology was, I was really hoping you’d accept it? I know how much you and this job mean to JB; I’d hate to think I messed everything up for her.” He looks at his sister sadly; Betty can tell JB is Jughead’s one weakness.

“JB isn’t going to lose her job because her moron brother is exactly that, a moron. However, I don’t accept your apology. Please leave, as I have work that needs attending this morning. JB, could you please escort him out?” The young intern turns to drag her brother out the door, when an intimidating Alice Cooper strides into the small office.

“Elizabeth, you didn’t tell me you’d already scheduled some interviews.” She looks at her daughter with a disapproving glare, but her face morphs into a grin as she turns towards the raven-haired siblings. “However, I work fast. Mr. Jones,” she extends her arm out to shake his hand, “I did some background research and believe you would be the perfect replacement for Dill-tn. Welcome to _The Blue and Gold_.” 

Before she understands her brain’s intentions, Betty can feel her legs moving, running out of the room, across the hall, down the stairs. She’s already gone before Jughead can even accept Alice’s job offer. But, she knows he will. And so, once again, Betty Cooper has run out on Jughead Jones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to heatherkw for helping me with the italics!
> 
> I appreciate all feedback! Thank you for reading!


	5. The Call

As much as Alice believes she has some control over her daughter’s life, some semblance of power over Betty’s decisions, she has never been able to fully understand the jumble of thoughts that constantly swim in the vast ocean of the young blonde’s mind. And so, the older woman is rendered speechless at Betty’s unceremonious exit.

_What is wrong with that girl?,_ she asks herself as she sticks her head around the door. Although Alice had heard the heavy footsteps rushing down the stairs, she hadn’t totally believed that her daughter had left; however, at seeing the empty corridor, she heaves a sigh. Betty had really ran away.

“You must excuse my daughter—must be something in the air this morning.” Alice waves her pointedly sharp fingernails towards the ground in an effort to dismiss the shock from the raven-haired siblings’ faces. “Now, Mr. Jones, back to my offer.” She turns on her stiletto heels, grinding them into the hardwood floors. She’s sure they’ll leave a mark; she wants them to.

“You have one day,” she points to the calendar on Betty’s desk, “to give me your final answer. No more, no less.” Alice plasters on the Stepford Wives grin she had learned when she first began dating Hal and coated her voice in a layer of sickly-sweet honey. “Thank you for stopping by _The Blue and Gold_ today. We hope you enjoyed your stay.”

The Joneses remain frozen in front of her, unsure of their next actions. The older woman watches as a bright red flush slowly returns to the intern’s face—she has realized the significance of Alice’s words. They are written above the exit to the building; all employees are told to use those exact sentences when dismissing any visitors.

“Come on, Juggie, “ she says quickly as she grabs his shoulder and nearly topples him over in an attempt to drag him out of the room. “Goodbye, Mrs. Cooper.”

Alice winces at the words. Cooper was better than Spellman, no doubt, but there were strings attached to the name that she’d been trying to sever for years. The “Crazy Coopers”, what a bunch they were. Alice had never labeled herself as one of them, and yet she had spent most of her young-adult life attempting to erase the stigma surrounding them.

“They’re not wackos, Mom!” she would shout from behind her metal bedroom door while applying mascara and lip gloss before her date with Hal.

“We’re in a recession, Mary. Of course Hal would go a little insane in times like these,” she’d tell her best friend while they watched Polly roll around in the grass at a backyard barbecue.

“My daughters are perfect and have never shown any signs of mental illnesses,” she would forcefully argue when questioned by Betty’s doctors.

The day she met Hal Cooper, Alice Spellman had decided she would do everything in her power to put an end to the rumors. If that meant lying through her teeth, she wouldn’t hesitate to do so. And so her daughters grew up, Alice focused on keeping them in line. Nobody in Riverdale would question the faultless Cooper daughters’ sanity.

After failing with Hal and Polly, Alice decided Betty was her last chance at perfection. “Elizabeth, stand up straighter when presenting yourself,” she had chided the four year-old girl.

“Elizabeth, you must practice your piano at a minimum of two hours a day,” she would shriek from the bottom of the stairs, causing her daughter’s bedroom door to fly open. Within a few seconds and with a heavy sigh, the young girl would begin to play her classical music.

“Elizabeth,” she would point at the multitude of red corrections that littered the page, “these writing errors must be fixed before you submit this essay.” Betty’s writing became one of the most common mediums through which Alice voiced her criticisms. “You have repeated the same adjectives throughout this one paragraph, Elizabeth! What have I told you about expanding your limited vocabulary?”

Betty’s answer to the question came in a robotic tone: “You must work harder, Elizabeth. Crack open the dictionary before heading to bed and memorize some new words.” After having repeated her mother’s advice word-for-word, the blonde headed up the stairs to her room. “I’m going to sleep now, mother. It’s getting late.” It was 8:30.

As hard as Betty tried, as perfect a daughter as she was, she would never shape up to Alice’s expectations. Betty knew that. Alice knew that. And yet, she kept pushing her daughter, deluding herself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, Betty could do the impossible. Maybe, just maybe, Betty could become the first sane Cooper.

~~~

His calloused fingers tug at the lonely strand of hair falling in front of his face, a nervous habit he had never quite outgrown. _There’s nothing to worry about,_ he keeps telling himself. Betty had promised that JB wouldn’t lose her job over his rude behavior, so why is he worried? _There’s nothing to worry about,_ he repeats as he twists the piece of hair around his finger.

Jughead Jones has always been a good liar. When teachers asked why his parents hadn’t signed up for a parent-teacher meeting, he told them that Mr. and Mrs. Jones worked long shifts in order to support their family. He reasoned that no sane teacher would demand a parent-teacher meeting after learning that information—in doing so he or she would be valuing a crap-filled conference over his parents’ supposed means of income.

Jughead Jones has always been a good liar…when it came to lying to other people. However, he could never delude himself into forgetting the truth. He knew the real reason he was worried; Betty had run out without a word. What if she was once again sinking her nails into the vulnerable skin of her palm? And because of him?

She hadn’t accepted his apology, and he understood why. It wasn’t very good. Most people would agree that children learn behaviors from their surroundings; Jughead was one of those children. His parents had been extremely effective in teaching their son their special ways. Their screaming matches and inability to resolve conflict had stuck with him.

Friday nights in the Jones household were notorious shit shows. Jughead’s father would kick the door open, launching his biker boots off his feet as he stepped into the trailer. A beer can or two would roll out of his hands as he dropped onto the small living room couch, the stench of beer, blood, and smoke radiating off of him.

Saturday mornings weren’t much better, as a red-eyed FP begged his young son for forgiveness; he had woken everyone up when he had come home the last night. The bearded man would give a feeble excuse for his actions—“I work so hard all week, Jug, and then I need some time to relax. I got a little carried away last night, but I promise it won’t happen again”—and then walk out the banged up trailer door. Jughead would never accept his apologies, as they were littered with false promises and faux sincerity.

And as much as Jughead hated to admit it, his father’s inability to excuse himself carried down the Jones family tree. He almost laughed at the irony of it all: Jughead Jones was a writer who couldn’t find the right words when admitting his own guilt.

However, Jughead was more determined than FP ever was. If Betty couldn’t understand his words, he would let his actions speak for him.

“Hello, this is _The Blue and Gold._ Midge Klump speaking. How may I help you?” the secretary answers from the other end of the line.

“Hi,” Jughead answers in an unusually smooth tone. “This is Jughead Jones. Could you let Alice Cooper know that I’m rejecting her job offer?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, sorry. I just had to get some backstory in, and so here we are. Next chapter should be up soon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting.


	6. The Wait

The sound of expensive heels clacking on the marble staircase is foreign to Betty Cooper’s ears. As a result, she can’t stop herself from looking down at her feet every few seconds to reaffirm that she truly is the one causing all this ruckus.

At Veronica’s recommendation, she had dug her most lavish pair of heels out from under the closet and dusted them off. They’re a bit tight around her toes, as she had bought them on a whim before leaving for college all those years ago; they had given her the confidence she needed to finally break away from Riverdale and her mother, if only for those four years.

Today, they would be just as effective in bringing Betty’s confidence back, or so she hopes. The memos that Midge had handed her as she’d walked in this morning are more aggressive than yesterday’s, written in her mother’s angry, sloped lettering. They weren’t even signed; Betty would know whose office to report to.

“Nice of you to join us again, Elizabeth.” Her mother had stopped calling her by her preferred nickname a while ago.

“I needed some fresh air, mother.”

“Yes, well, if that was all you had needed, you could’ve just cracked open a window.” Alice gives her daughter a pointed look as she continues, “However, we have greater matters at hand. We’re missing the interview on a certain FP Jones, and as that is supposed to be our front-page article, I hope you can understand why I’m a bit concerned.”

Betty bites her lip to keep herself from chuckling. Only Alice Cooper would use the word “concerned” when faced with an empty front-page the day before the newspaper begins printing.

“I’m afraid JB was unable to conduct her interview due to…” she trails off before swallowing down her anxiety, “unforeseen circumstances. I’ll have her talk to him first thing this morning. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Betty reasoned her mother had probably assigned Jughead to the empty desk next door, in an effort to spite her for having run out of the room.

“I’m not quite sure where he is at the moment, Elizabeth. However, I recommend you find him. I’m appointing you to the task of completing his interview—no buts about it.” She holds her bony index finger up in warning. “Your intern is busy formulating her pitch for a column reviewing all types of music and informing readers of any news in the music world. Sounds interesting, does it not?”

Betty just nods along, having lost all concentration after her mother nonchalantly told her of her latest assignment. As if she hadn’t just dropped an anxiety-inducing bomb on her daughter.

“Hurry off, Elizabeth. Not all of us can afford to take the day off or dilly dally for hours on end. There’s much to be done.”

Betty’s lost in her thoughts as she makes her way to the office. She isn’t focusing on her feet and so she hopes muscle memory will keep her from breaking an ankle in her heels. She can feel rough bumps scratching against her fingers as she trails them across the cold brick wall. The intensity of the sensation in her right hand consumes her and she hopes the feeling never subsides. When she further presses the pads of her fingers against the material, a bolt of electricity runs through her, ending at the bottom of her spine. 

She’s forced to detach herself from the wall when she turns left into her office. JB’s black hair splays across the backing of her own swivel chair as she huddles over her computer. “Heard you got a shot at your own column?” Betty questions with a smile lighting up her face. Her pride at JB’s accomplishments pulls her from the dark abyss her mind has pulled her down into, restoring a sense of hope and happiness in the young woman.

“OhmygoshBetty!” JB screams as she makes an abrupt 180 in order to face the blonde. Her words slur together due to her excitement, and her tongue trips itself up. After taking a second to recompose herself, JB haphazardly pushes her bangs out of her face. “Isn’t it so exciting! I get to make money by writing about my passion. Jug always told me I should go work at a record store instead, but now I get to say _I told you so._ I knew this job would be good for me, Betty. I can merge both my interests into one!”

“That’s amazing, Jelly. But, uh, speaking of Jughead, have you seen him around?”

“Why would I have?” she asks in the disinterested tone only siblings use when talking about each other.

Betty would find Jelly’s comment amusing, but the throbbing headache affecting her brain at the moment keeps her from straying too far off course. She must get that interview done this morning; she has no time for Jug and JB’s rivalry. “Maybe because you work with him now? In the same building, might I add,” she huffs as she plops her messenger bag down next to her own desk.

“No, we don’t.” The words leave her mouth slowly, as if she’s bracing for impact.

“JB, I don’t have the time for any pranks this morning. Now, where’s Jug’s desk?”

“Betty, I’m not shitting you. Jug doesn’t have a job here. He rejected it.” Upon hearing those three words, the fog clears from Betty’s mind. She’s suddenly alert, as if the weight of the world has been lifted off her shoulders. She won’t have to tip toe around the office, attempting to avoid his scrutiny, for the foreseeable future.

“H-He doesn’t?” she stammers.

“Nope.” JB’s lips form a popping sound at the end of the word.

So he really hadn’t accepted the job. Had it been for Betty’s sake? No, of course not. The jerk would never take her feelings into account. How could Betty be so silly. He was a successful and published author; obviously he was busy enough and didn’t need the extra money. 

“But I can give you his number, if you want?” JB continues, now intently staring at the blonde.

“There’s no other way to contact him?” she huffs with a sigh. For some reason, texting Jughead Jones just seems far too personal.

“If you want to get to him asap, probably not. Reggie checks Jug’s work email for him, and Reg isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, if you know what I mean.”

Betty pulls her phone out of her purse and unlocks it before haughtily sliding it across her desk in JB’s direction. The intern’s nimble fingers carefully tap away, entering her brother’s number into the phone’s contacts list.

With a small nod of gratitude pointed in JB’s direction, Betty takes her phone back and taps on the small speech bubble icon under Jughead’s name, creating a new chat with him.

She begins typing: **Hey Jughead, it’s Betty. From _The Blue and Gold_? Anyway, I’d like to apologize for running out on you yesterday. It was very unprofessional of me. Could we maybe talk over coffee, clear the air, and sit down to answer some questions I have? I realized this morning that JB never got to interview you.**

_Elizabeth,_ she mentally scolds herself. _Why are you the one apologizing? Why are you being so nice?_

So she deletes the message and restarts: **Hello Jughead, it’s Betty Cooper from _The Blue and Gold_. I realized that JB never got to interview you and was wondering if you’d like to meet over coffee so I could ask you some questions. Please let me know of your availability.**

_Much better, Elizabeth._ Betty thinks back to those presidential candidate campaign ads she used to analyze for her history classes. They’d end with the candidates themselves endorsing their commercials. _My name is Betty Cooper and I approve this message,_ she recites with false confidence as her finger hits “send”.

And now, to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I realize this chapter is a bit short, but I decided to split this one up into two. The next chapter should be up shortly.
> 
> Side note, I was listening to Homemade Dynamite by Lorde as I was writing this chapter and thought you should all know that it's a pretty great song.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a comment below; I live for them!


	7. The Ordeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I've kept y'all waiting long enough.
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes. It's late and I'm tired, so I probably didn't catch most of them.
> 
> Also, this is an AU, so that's my justification for totally throwing canon out the window.

**Sure. I can’t meet for coffee, but does Pop’s at 6 work for you?**

His response had been immediate and had left Betty feeling pretty silly. What kind of insecure person spends four minutes planning out and rewriting a text? Obviously, insecure people like her. Jughead hadn’t needed that kind of time to pick and choose his words.

 **Yes.** She typed back quickly, not wanting him to sense her hesitation.

But, Betty Cooper had been extremely hesitant. Hesitant to send such a blunt text and hesitant to attend such a potentially-disastrous meeting. However, she’d powered through the day and managed to get back to her apartment before she collapsed onto her bed, stomach churning and acid bubbling up in her throat.

And now, she stands in front of the door to said apartment, attempting to fit the key inside the lock with trembling hands. _Come on, Cooper. You got this. You got this. You got this…._

The mantra repeats in her head, her own special version of the telltale “fake it till you make it” strategy. Finally, her shaky fingers manage to slip the ridges of the cold metal key into their designated spots, and she turns the lock. She yanks the key out and looks down at her phone. 5:50 p.m. Betty Cooper had never been late, and she wasn’t about to start now. Whipping her head around and away from the wooden door, she’s about to begin her quick walk to Pop’s when a familiar flash of blonde jumps out from behind the corner. A small finger points directly at Betty’s chest, causing her gaze to travel up the body towards its owner’s face: Pink nail…bony finger…slender arm…Polly’s flaming eyes and furrowed brows. If Betty wasn’t so shocked, she’d be laughing at the extreme shade of tomato-red coloring her sister’s face.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?” Polly accuses. As a kid, Betty had always adored her sister’s melodic voice and endearing tone. However, years of disappointment and depression have drowned out the softness in her voice. Her icy tone contrasts the fire Betty can see blazing in her eyes.

“After all these years, I’ve finally found out where you live. I come visit you, as all sweet sisters should,” her voice now sickly sweet, “and you’re about to leave. Come on, dear sister. Let’s go back inside. We have a lot to discuss.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Pauline.” Polly isn’t the only one who’s hardened over the years. Betty’s going to fight fire with fire, or in this case, ice with ice.

“Oh but my dear, Betts. You could not be more wrong. Why don’t we start with the fact that you murdered the love of my life?!” Polly’s pointy finger is now jabbed in the center of Betty’s sternum, pushing through the layer of the younger sister’s button-up top to break the skin.

“You know I didn’t kill Jason, Polly. Everyone knows!” she yells exasperatedly, the fight that drove the two apart years ago still fresh in her mind. “You’ve even seen the video. Your beloved daddy-in-law shot him, not me.”

“Why Betty, haven’t you learned? Nothing is ever so clean-cut in Riverdale. That video wrapped everything up with a nice little bow for us, didn’t it? You and your disgusting boyfriend just so happened to stumble upon incriminating footage of Clifford.”

Betty’s face falters at the mention of Archie—she hadn’t heard his name in so long. However, she quickly regains her composure and stares her older sister down. “For the millionth time, Polly; Archie and I found the flash drive in Jason’s jacket, which, need I remind you, Penelope discovered in Clifford’s chest of drawers. Archie and I had nothing to do with it. And Archie isn’t my boyfriend!” she’s nearly shrieking now. “Never was, never will be.”

“I know,” Polly’s mouth morphs into another snarl. “You couldn’t have your ginger, so you just had to go and get rid of mine, too.”

Betty steps backwards at the accusation and the doorknob jabs into her lower back. Instead of wincing at the pain, she welcomes it. At least she isn’t curling her nails into her palms.

“Polly, you and I both know I was devastated when Archie left.” She gulps. “But I never loved him. Not enough to warrant going out and murdering my sister’s fiancee.”

“That’s what they all say.” Betty can sense Polly’s facade cracking. Underneath her sister’s stone-cold visage are despair and unending grief. 

“How many other people have you accused of murder?” Betty attempts to lighten the mood, but the joke falls flat. A resounding silence engulfs the pair, and it’s only broken by the shuffling of Polly’s feet. She’s running for the stairs, disappearing on her younger sister just as she had all those years ago.

Betty slinks down against her door, pulling her knees to her chest. She wants to go back inside and curl up into a ball underneath the duvet of her bead, but for the life of her she can’t remember where she put the key. It must’ve dropped from her hands sometime during the whole ordeal.

~~~

Jughead Jones to Betty Cooper, 6:05

**The place is packed, but I managed to get us a booth. Lucky me!**

 

Jughead Jones to Betty Cooper, 6:14

**Do you need me to order you anything? That way the food’ll be here by the time you arrive.**

 

Jughead Jones to Betty Cooper, 6:17

**Betty? You are coming, right?**

 

Jughead Jones to Betty Cooper, 6:33

**I got some food anyway. I needed some sustenance and the waitress was beginning to eye me suspiciously, as if she was about to kick me out for not ordering anything. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.**

 

Jughead checks his phone. It’s 6:50 now and still nothing from Betty. He understands that something could’ve come up so she wasn’t able to make it, but a little heads up would’ve been nice.

Or maybe she’d purposely stood him up. It would certainly serve him right. 

No. She would never. If not to keep up appearances, then because tonight was more than just a much-needed chat between the two of them. She had set this up to interview him for the paper. Betty Cooper was far too professional to put any personal squabbles over her job.

After running one hand through his hair, Jughead replaces his beanie back on his head. It had been sitting on the table all night, waiting for her as a peace offering of sorts.

He dumps a wad of cash onto the table—enough to pay for his meal and ensure the judgmental waitress gets a generous tip—and recklessly pushes his way through the diner’s doors. He leans against his motorcycle as he lights up a Marlboro. There’s no use in driving around if he has no idea where to go. Cigarette in one hand, he uses the other to text Jellybean.

 

Jughead Jones to JellyBelly, 7:01

**Do u know Betty’s address?**

 

JellyBelly to Jughead Jones, 7:01

**Whatever crap ur about to pull, I will have no part of it.**

 

Jughead Jones to JellyBelly, 7:02

**U don’t want me checking on her?**

 

JellyBelly to Jughead Jones, 7:03

**Wtf are you talking about. Wasn’t she just with u at Pop’s?**

 

Jughead Jones to JellyBelly, 7:03

**She didn’t show up. I’m guessing Betty Cooper isn’t a girl to stand a guy up?**

 

JellyBelly to Jughead Jones, 7:05

**As much as I hate to further box her into the typical nice-girl-next-door stereotype, I’d say ur guess is correct. It’s on Elm Street. Building 456 apartment 4A if memory serves. She had me sort through some of her mail a few days ago.**

 

Jughead Jones to JellyBelly, 7:06

**I don’t need the whole backstory, JB, but thx for the help. I’ll be home later.**

 

JellyBelly to Jughead Jones, 7:05

**No problem. Good luck getting the girl ;)**

 

Jughead sighs and flicks what remains of his Marlboro to the ground, proceeding to grind it under the heel of his leather boot. He knows the apartment building Jelly mentioned, a huge brick structure with no front security late at night (this was Riverdale, after all. Even the murder of Jason Blossom couldn’t convince residents that the town wasn’t as safe as it appeared).

He pulls up in front of the large double doors of 456 Elm Street and shuts off his engine. Making his way inside, Jughead climbs the stairs two at a time until he reaches the fourth floor. The hallway lights are dim, but he can make out a small figure crouched against an apartment door.

“Betty?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!!
> 
> Now who's ready for some angst?! ;) The next chapter should be up within a week. Sorry I can't update any sooner, but real life is being a real pain as of right now.
> 
> Please leave any and all feedback. It's my lifeblood. Seriously though, you guys are the best. Thank you to anyone and everyone who's still following this crazy fic.


	8. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubled Sandy Olsson has a bit of a panic attack as well-meaning-but-socially-inept Danny Zuko attempts to help her. Key word is "attempts". Then, Nice Rizzo consoles Troubled Sandy.
> 
> (This fairly awkward chapter summary--I tried my best..I promise I did--was inspired by Perry_Downing's own hilarious summaries. Her fics are most definitely recommended.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back. I know, it's been three months. THREE WHOLE MONTHS. I'm so sorry. There are a slew of excuses I could make as to why I haven't been able to update, but they're not going to help anybody, so let's just get on with it. I'm still not entirely proud of this chapter, but I need to get this out there before I rewrite it for the millionth time (not exaggerating at all).

The sconces lighting the hallway flicker as she turns to him, eyes wide and alarmingly red. _Far too red_. Worse than when Hotdog’s eyes had flashed bright red during pollen season last year. A smokey gray aura envelops her, dissolving into the air as its tendrils seep farther and farther away from her. Cautiously, as if he were approaching one of those wounded kittens JB constantly begs him to take in from the streets, Jughead takes quiet steps towards her.

“Betty?” he tries again, as her lips haven’t fallen open to form a response yet. This time, his voice jars her and she immediately grimaces, the last of her salty tears falling from her cheeks. Those blaring red eyes never leave his as she begins patting the carpet around her. He catches a glimpse of a small silver ring on her right hand as she searches around her. What she’s looking for, Jughead has no idea. The gray mist around her fades away as he steps even closer. He’s not sure whether it has truly dissolved into thin air or if he has just entered the eye of the storm. Either way, Betty’s features are much more evident now; her eyebrows are furrowed into a worrying knot, strands of her blonde hair are matted to her forehead, and her usually perky ponytail has fallen to the nape of her neck.

He crouches down next to her and stills her hand with his. “What are you looking for?” he asks softly.

“House key,” she breathes out as she rips her hand out from underneath his and begins her search once more. Whereas earlier she was curled up, knees to her chest, she now frantically moves on all fours, crawling around the small hallway like a rabid animal. Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone this hellbent on finding something. However, he reasons, if it’s important to her, he’ll help her out. And so, Jughead gets on his hands and knees and follows her example.

It’s not long until he sees the newly polished piece of silver glittering from underneath Betty’s purse. How she had missed it, he’s not sure. But he guesses she’s probably not in the best state of mind to find anything, let alone a partially hidden slip of silver. Quickly, he stands to shove the key in the lock, but stops before turning around and heading for Betty, who is still patting the floor on the other side of the walkway. “Betty, I found it. The key, I me—” Before he can finish, she’s ripping it from his hardened hands and running across the hall to her door. Her fingers tremble as she attempts to slide the metal into the lock, so he gingerly places his hand on hers to steady it. As soon as the lock turns, she’s kicking the door open and entering like a freight train. He’s still not quite sure what has her in such a fit, but he’s absolutely not going to leave her alone at a time like this.

Picking up her forgotten purse, Jughead knocks on the open door before taking a step inside. He frowns as he watches her from the doorway, unwilling to step inside and invade her privacy any more than he has to. Her apartment has an open concept floor plan rivaling those pictured in House Magazine, with the kitchen to the left of the door only separated from the living room by a small circular dining table.

She’s knocking framed photographs on the fireplace mantle into a large handbag. Jughead thinks one of them might be of a familiar young boy with carrot orange hair, but he can’t see too well from so far away and quickly banishes the thought. She’s now running into her bedroom on his right, dragging a suitcase from the coat closet behind her.

“Betty, please, is there anything I can do? You just need to breath a little bit. Maybe relax on the couch?” he suggests as she emerges from her bedroom, previously empty suitcase now overflowing with garments haphazardly thrown into it. One side hasn’t even been zipped up and half a lacy bra is sticking out. Jughead immediately averts his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she shouts from the bathroom as she takes the handbag from earlier and fills it with toiletries.

Jughead almost wants to laugh at her wording (because she is so obviously _not_ fine), but immediately sobers once she returns to the kitchen. She’s grabbing food from her pantry when her elbow inadvertently knocks a glass off the counter. Jughead watches as it slams into the hardwood floor, shattering into hundreds of tiny shards. And just like that, Betty splinters too—as if the storm that had been brewing inside her this whole time has finally broken, flooding the apartment. Unceremoniously, she falls to the floor next to the glass and shakes as sobs rack her body.

He can’t not do anything now, so Jughead quickly closes the door to her apartment behind him and rushes to her side. “Betty, I know you’re not fine. Please, just take some deep breaths for me. I’ll clean up the glass, let’s just get you the couch, okay?”

She looks up at him, wide eyes glossy with new tears, and slowly nods. He pulls her up and very nearly carries her over to the sectional in the corner of the room, as she lacks the energy to hold her own body up any longer.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she whispers after a few deep breaths. He’s crouching in front of her and can smell her rose perfume as it shimmers around them.

“Please tell me what happened. I can only help you if I know what’s going on,” he urges as he takes her hand in his. She immediately turns to look at their intertwined fingers, but only continues to stare.

After a few beats, he tries to catch her gaze and whispers, “Come on, Betts.”

He immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing when she tenses up and snatches her hand out of his. “Don’t. Don’t call me that,” she hisses before pushing him away from her and standing up. Her face has grown stone cold as resolve washes over her complexion. However weak her legs had been at the point of her collapse, they have certainly recovered. Swiftly she maneuvers around the broken glass in her kitchen and resumes the task of piling food into her handbag.

Jughead approaches the dining room table and takes a seat, unwilling to get too close as he attempts to pull some answers from her once again. “Betty, stop. What are you doing?”

“Packing up, can’t you tell?” she snarls with her back turned to him.

“Yes, but why?”

“I need to leave. Not that it’s any of your business, but I need to leave. Right now. Or else,” she stops to think her words over, “well, or else she’ll be back. She knows where I live now. She knows where to find me—where to kill me.” She finally turns around, leveling him with a look that asks _do you finally understand now?_ but Jughead has never felt more confused in his life.

He folds his hands on the table in front of him and studies his fingers, trying to make sense of what she’s just told him, but comes up short. “Sorry if I’m being completely oblivious, but, who? Who is going to kill you?”

She doesn’t answer him as she continues to shuffle around the kitchen, and he thinks she’s given up on explaining anything to him when a small little “Polly” escapes her lips.

“Polly’s going to kill me,” she elaborates with a hiccup. “But it’s none of your business, Jones. You obviously don’t give a damn what happens to me, so I’d—“

“Of course I care what happens to you!” he nearly shouts as he stands up from his seat.

“Really? You cared that I would be braving a huge storm all by myself late at night? You cared that I would be walking home from the Southside in the same wet, soggy clothes that you’d found me in the night before?”

“You said you were fine!” he counters, even though he knows he’s in the wrong. He _had_ been extremely rude to her, yet somehow this woman had him so riled up he couldn’t even admit to his own mistakes.

“That doesn’t mean anything, Jug! I wasn’t fine. I’m—“ she stops as tears reappear on her cheeks, “I’m not fine.”

Immediately, he’s pulling her into his arms as a new wave of sobs racks her body. “It’ll be okay, Betty. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

 

~~~

 

Betty is blissfully unaware of her surroundings, focused only on the warmth enveloping her, as she comes to. But then something hairy rubs against her arms, and she realizes with a start that the warmth has a heartbeat. A flash of white burns her eyes as they slowly adjust to the new intake of light, and when she blinks them open wider, she’s met with the face of a slobbering sheepdog.

“Hotdog!” A familiar voice shouts in scorn. At the loud noise, Betty closes her eyes again, willing the immense headache afflicting her mind to _just go away_. “Leave her alone.”

Betty thinks she recognizes the voice..No. Scratch that. She _knows_ that voice. The confident tone it carries through the room reminds her of someone, but she can’t quite decipher who just yet.

Suddenly, a rush of air floods her body as the sheepdog is lifted off of her stomach, and Betty can feel herself begin to shiver.

The voice returns as someone quickly drops the dog on the floor and rubs her arm. “B, you’ve got goosebumps. Need some extra layers? I’m pretty sure Jug just recently washed some of our quilts. Here, I’ll grab you some.”

The figure, who Betty has now identified as Jellybean (a welcome friend if she’s ever known one), retreats to the linen closet down the hall before Betty can respond. When the pitter patter of her feet against the hardwood signals that the raven-haired woman has returned within earshot, Betty finally attempts to speak.

“Jelly?” she asks, hoping to confirm that she hasn’t been kidnapped by a malicious stranger but rather is being taken care of by the kindest person Betty has yet to meet.

“I’m here, Betty. Just relax, okay?”

Betty lets out a deep sigh as the words act like a switch, opening the floodgates of her memories. _Just relax._ “Jug…” she trails off as the headache intensifies, the bile in her throat threatening to bubble up.

“What about him?” JB asks softly, brushing sweaty streaks of hair from Betty’s forehead.

The blonde swallows quickly. “That’s what he told me before. To relax…Obviously,” she adds with a mirthless laugh, “that didn’t work. I still blacked out.”

“But you’re better now, right?” Jelly asks, her words colored with genuine concern.

At that, Betty slowly begins to open her eyes, the green in hers searching for the blue in JB’s. “I’m here with you, which helps.” Some moments of silence later, during which the air feels laden with lead, she adds in a soft whisper, “Thank you.”

“Of course, B. I love you and all—I would do anything for you—but even if I didn’t, who would I be to refuse anyone help?” She continues as Betty listens lightly, far more focused on finally using her regained sight to examine her surroundings. She’s lying on a small red couch in the living room, wedged into the nook farthest from the front door. Betty’s not sure whether the piece of furniture is always stationed in this spot, or if the Jones’ have moved it just for her, but either way she feels extremely safe in this little apartment. A small breakfast bar separates the cozy room from a small kitchen to her left, and a hall next to it leads to what Betty imagines must be the linen closet and bathroom, as the two shut doors lining the wall to her right must be the siblings’ bedrooms. One is covered in pictures of various figures—including JK Rowling, Michelle Obama, and Katniss Everdeen—and the fire red letters JB, while the other is left completely blank.

Having quickly given the apartment a once over, Betty tunes back in to listen to JB, who hasn’t stopped ranting. “I mean, he just aggressively kicks the door at 11 at night—I’m actually surprised none of the neighbors woke up to file a noise complaint—and I’m sitting in bed, super pissed. I was about to go to sleep and here comes my idiot brother, disrupting everything. And he should have his keys, right? So why can’t he get in by himself?”

She pauses to inhale a swift breath, “Turns out, it’s because he’s carrying you in his arms and can’t seem to do much else with them. You’re completely passed out, and I’m immediately thinking _what did this moron do this time? And how the hell did he get you here?”_

Betty’s about to interrupt the rambling young woman with more questions of her own when JB continues, “Actually, that second one I figured out quite quickly, because he dropped your car keys into my hands as soon as he barreled through the door. But the first one took a bit of explaining.”

“He didn’t do anything, JB,” Betty butts in quickly, hoping to get some words in edgeways.

“I know that now!” the girl answers, and Betty sighs in defeat. “Anyway, he explains that you were freaking out because your sister’s going to kill you or something—honestly, Betty, that’s some Lion King level shit—and that he needed to get you somewhere safe.” Concern floods JB’s voice once again as she pauses, sternly looking at Betty. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, B, but if you need help, Jug and I are here for you.”

“Thank you, JB” the blonde responds earnestly. Then, a thought hits her; “where is he?” she asks wearily, not entirely sure she wants to face him after her meltdown.

Hotdog suddenly whines as if in response before JB swallows slowly. “Having a nice chat with Alice Cooper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment.
> 
> And thank you to the readers who are still here. I promise the wait for my next update won't be nearly as long. I have everything planned out now, so we should be good to go. In fact, I hope to post the next chapter by Friday.
> 
> To those of you who were surprised by Polly's appearance last chapter: Although I had thrown some hints into the story from the beginning (Fun game idea: can anyone spot them? JK JK don't waste your precious time like that), I intended her arrival to be a bit shocking. But there will most definitely be more where that came from, so prepare yourselves.
> 
> PS. I have spent the past three months fairly active on AO3, reading a lot of amazing Bughead fics (serious kudos to all you authors out there), and if anyone needs some recommendations, please don't hesitate to ask!


	9. The Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well-meaning-but-socially-inept Danny Zuko chats with the Dragon Mother, who then makes a call to the Dragon Keeper. Troubled Sandy Olsson and Reformed Regina George discuss Sandy's new living situation. Nice Rizzo convinces Danny Zuko to become one half of the Sherlock-Watson duo.
> 
> I have decided to keep the wacky chapter summaries. If only to entertain myself. Perry, please teach me your wizard ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back?
> 
> I was gone for a bit because I was super busy and then out of the country. And while I'm still traveling, I managed to find some time and a spot with Wifi. So here I am, uploading this chapter and then reading all the amazing Bughead fics I missed in the last week.

Jughead’s fingers pick at the expensive red leather armrest of the chair situated on the other side of Alice Cooper’s desk. Her face muscles twitch for a fraction of a second every time his index finger catches on a ridge in the material, drawing her wrinkle lines tighter.

He’s busy staring past her face at the framed images on the wall behind her blonde head when her lips open and close, mouthing words. It takes him a few moments to realize that she’s begun speaking to him. He tunes back into their conversation.

“Though your presence in my office this early on such a fine Saturday morning is not entirely surprising, Mr. Jones, may I ask for what reason exactly you have decided to stop by?” She asks in a manner that would come across as disinterested if it weren’t for her intense green eyes and hardened jaw.

“Not surprising, Alice? In what way?” Jughead has a very specific reason for his being here, but he thought she would be a bit more stricken by his 6:45 a.m. visit. He’d made sure to corner Alice in her office as soon as her doors opened this morning, as to not lose her to the chaos of print day.

“I assumed you would come crawling back for a job sooner or later. Print journalism is a dying field with not many jobs available, and your novel’s success will start dwindling as soon as the public finds its new favorite.”

“Is that why _The Blue and Gold’s_ front page will be all about FP Jones, famous author? Because of his so-called dwindling success?”

“Why, no.” Jughead can see her eyes narrow as she suddenly crosses her arms. A defensive move, he notices. “Our front page is perfectly adapted for the current trends. Everyone who is anyone in Riverdale (and beyond) will want to read our story on this month’s person of interest, FP Jones. All I’m saying is that if we were to print that interview a few months from now, it would hardly be relevant.”

A small huff escapes his mouth with the next breath. The audacity of this woman. Of course, she isn’t saying anything Jughead himself hasn’t been thinking for the past few years of his life. That his success will be short-lived. That the world will grow tired of FP Jones (He certainly has). But especially, that he’ll become dead weight, another “father-figure” that will have failed JB and won’t be able to pay his half of the rent.

“Speaking of, where is Betty’s interview? She was supposed to email her final draft to me earlier this morning.” Alice’s gaze immediately drifts to her desktop monitor, where Jughead assumes she has her email pulled up. “I swear that girl gets worse and worse as the days go by.”

Jughead’s not quite sure what Alice means by that, but the mention of Betty makes his train of thought switch tracks. He can’t afford to be self-deprecating when a traumatized woman is sleeping on the couch in his apartment.

“We didn’t get to completing our interview, Alice. That is actually why I’m here.”

At that, Alice’s eyes roll. “I should’ve known better than to assign her to that task. Sometimes I don’t know what’s going on with her,” the woman laughs an unmistakably forced chuckle.

“You may not, but I do. We were supposed to meet for the interview, but Betty failed to show up.” Before Alice can interrupt yet again, he puts his left palm up. “When I did finally find her, she was frantic and upset, claiming that her sister is out to kill her. Were you aware that Polly is back in town, Alice? That she attacked your daughter last night?”

Jughead detects a wave of unease surging over the woman sitting across from him, but she quickly builds a wall of cracked concrete around herself—opaque and shielding, but just flimsy enough that a light tap from raven-haired man could send it crumbling to the floor. “That is entirely impossible, Mr. Jones. I’m sure she was just making things up to excuse her tardiness. Polly could not have returned to Riverdale.”

If they were in a Saturday morning cartoon, Jughead is one hundred percent sure there would be steam blowing out from his ears and his face would be tomato red. Maybe it already is. He quickly pushes himself to stand, needing his next words to really sink into Alice Cooper. “But she did. And now Betty’s worried for her own safety. I’m worried for her safety. She can’t stay in her apartment for the next few weeks, let alone days. At least until we’ve tracked Polly down and made sure she won’t come for Betty again.”

He’s still fuming when she responds with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “I assure you, Betty is overreacting. Even if Polly were here, she would pose no threat. My daughter is not dangerous, Mr. Jones. Now—as Betty has proved herself entirely incapable of conducting this interview on her own, I would like to ask you a few questions.” She pulls a notepad out from one of the drawers in her desk and uncaps a ballpoint pen before sipping some of the green tea that Midge had brought her earlier that morning.

Jughead’s fingers find his beanie as he pulls the hat closer to his head. “No. I won’t be answering any of your questions. Not now, not ever.”

“You agreed to an interview, Mr. Jones.”

“Yeah, I did. With JB and Betty, but not with you. If you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to,” he replies with a scoff as he turns towards the door.

“We need a cover page. We need a story. We need an article to print today.”

“And you do have one.” He reaches into the messenger bag resting at his feet and pulls out a small stack of papers. “Just do me a favor and keep my name out of the byline, will you?” Jughead unceremoniously drops the article onto the notepad on her desk, barely missing the mug of tea, before he swiftly pushes his way out of the room.

 

~~~

 

Alice’s eyesight blurs over as she stares at the printed paper on her desk. The inky black letters form unreadable words; she can’t make out the title of Jughead Jones’s article. She doesn’t care. She knows it’ll be perfect.

Her gaze drifts to the small landline phone at the corner of the mahogany desktop and—without a second’s hesitation—her calloused fingers reach for the keypad. The dry skin on her hands cracks open as she punches in a phone number and then pulls the phone to her ear. While she takes most of her calls on speakerphone, this conversation is not one she wants overheard.

“Hello?” A wary voice croaks, hoarse from sleep. She’d woken her up. The time on Alice’s phone reads 7:23 now, and Chicago is an hour behind.

“Can you please tell me why I have an emo Truman Capote cornering me in my office at 6:45 in the morning with news of Polly resurfacing in Riverdale?”

She hears a muttered “Shit” before some loud shuffling. “I was going to tell you, Ali, really, but I didn’t think she’d get to you this quickly. The girl had no money. There was no way she could get to Riverdale within a day of going missing.”

“Well, she did, Mary! Why didn’t you call me as soon as you noticed she was gone?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I sent Archie out after her, and when he came back empty handed at 2:00 a.m. last night, I was too tired to text you. I’ll tell him to hop on the next flight to New York asap and send him after her. Just get Betty somewhere safe, will you? As much as we’ve tried to tell her, Polly just can’t believe her sister had nothing to do with Jason’s death. And you stay safe too, ok? You never know…” Mary’s voice trails off as the call suddenly ends, and Alice imagines she must be trying to get a hold of Archie.

The blonde sighs as she runs a hand through her straightened hair, a habit she has taken up again now that her fingers wear no rings that could get caught in her tresses. While she won’t tell Jughead to protect Betty—that would imply Polly is a danger. Which she is not. At least, Alice will claim she is not.—she prays that her youngest daughter stays safe.

Without even sparing a glance at the article still sitting on her desk, which she needs to read, revise, and send to print in a matter of hours, Alice reaches for her phone again and presses the number 1—a speed-dial shortcut for Midge’s desk.

“Hello, Midge.” She pauses and allows the brunette to answer. “Yes, everything is fine. Mr. Jones just had a few questions for me, nothing to be worried about. However, I need you to book me a suite at the safest hotel within a twenty mile radius. No matter the price. Just find something for the next few days and then email me the details.”

Alice can just imagine the confusion etched on the secretary’s pinched features as she pulls up Tripago on her computer. Luckily, the young woman asks no questions.

“Thank you, Midge. Oh, and clear my schedule for the rest of the morning. I have a few calls to make.”

 

~~~

 

It’s at the thought of breakfast that Betty snaps her neck to attention. JB has just left the apartment for Pop’s because “we’re crappy adults who have no good breakfast food in their apartment, sorry Betty.” And now, the blonde is left alone to search for her phone. She needs to call Veronica. 

Ever since Veronica had hired a personal trainer, she’d forced Betty to attend Saturday morning yoga sessions with her, if only to preemptively lose the calories they later gained back at brunch. Veronica always accompanied Smithers to pick Betty up from her apartment, and the blonde knows her best friend will flip if she doesn’t answer the door or her phone.

She examines the small apartment. Surely they must have left her phone with the rest of her stuff Jughead brought over. Now, if only she knew where that was. The entrance table? No. The kitchen counter? No. The small side table next to the couch? Betty twists her neck to check. No.

The only remaining spaces are the bedrooms and bathroom, and she doubts her stuffed suitcase is resting on the tiled floor of the latter. As she doesn’t exactly feel comfortable barging into Jughead’s room without his knowing, Betty decides Jelly’s room will be her first destination. She rips the quilts off of herself and makes her way towards the door with red JB letters taped to it.

While she’d known JB’s room would be nothing like her own childhood bedroom—covered in pink floral wallpaper and filled with mirrors of all shapes and sizes, all the better to scrutinize her body with—Betty hadn’t expected this. Light blue curtains dangling from the posts of a canopy bed hide the mattress and bedding from the blonde’s line of sight. A lime green fuzzy carpet highlights the center of the room, and the faux fur envelops Betty’s feet. White walls are covered in posters of varying interests, including those from the outside of her door. A white-washed wooden dresser stands in the corner and at its feet lie Betty’s belongings. She sighs in relief—no need to wander into Jughead’s room.

Searching through the large purse on the floor, Betty shuffles a few framed photos aside to find her phone lying on the bottom. She’d charged it last night before the interview, so she isn’t surprised when it turns on at nearly full battery.

Veronica’s contact photo had been taken on the duo’s trip to San Francisco their senior year of high school—courtesy of Mr. Lodge. The two are eating snow cones together, the red dye from Veronica’s cherry ice dripping down her chin. Betty had never seen her best friend so relaxed. She smiles as she puts the phone to her ear, willing Ron to pick up.

After a few seconds, Betty hears the unmistakable sound of Veronica’s voicemail and she hangs up with a huff. Scrolling up to the Bs, Betty taps on Blossom in the hopes that her best friend’s girlfriend will have her phone on her.

“You better have a good fucking reason to be calling at this ghostly hour,” a bitter voice attacks Betty through the speaker. To say Cheryl wasn’t a morning person would be a grave understatement. There was a reason Veronica dragged Betty to yoga every Saturday and not her partner.

“It’s ghastly, Cher. At this ghastly hour, not ghostly.”

“Well, I like ghostly better, Ms. Honey. Now, I’d like to be able to bury my head under my pillow again and fall back asleep until our dinner with Hermione tonight, so what’s up?”

“Is Ron there?”

“Oh, so you wake me up at this _ghostly_ hour just to ask for someone else? Nobody cared about me when I was growing up, but I thought times had changed. Ah, how wrong I was.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Cher. You know that’s not true. I just really need to talk to Ron right now.”

“She’s busy blending up a storm in the kitchen. Some new kale strawberry smoothie recipe she found in the latest Cosmo. Funnily enough the woman on the cover looked exactly like you.” Betty can’t imagine a world in which Cheryl would compare her to a model on a magazine cover, so she waits to revel in the compliment. “Except hotter.” And there it is. “Anyway, I’ll let her know you called.”

“Thanks, Cher. You’re the best.”

“I know.” The line silences as Cheryl hangs up on her. Betty sprawls out on the green carpet, phone held high above her head and knees drawn up. The Maps app draws her eye; she might as well figure out where the hell this place is. Her location loads, and she isn’t surprised to find that she’s on the Southside. 14 Sunnyside Road to be exact. She recognizes the name from a fleeting childhood memory. _Sunnyside._ Where had she heard that before?

Her train of thought derails as Josie and the Pussycats’ Candygirl blasts, the ringtone a dead giveaway as to who’s calling her.

“Hey, Betty, sorry I missed your call. Smithers is already in the car and we’ll leave for yours in a minute.”

“Listen, Ron, that’s why I needed to talk to you. Don’t bother coming over ‘cause I can’t come to yoga this morning. Or brunch.”

“Oh.” There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. The distinct sound of Veronica jamming her house key into the lock before turning it. “You know I support your choices, B, but I really think a sesh could be good for you, you know? What with work and all, it might help clear your head. And how could you miss out on brunch? If you’re on a new diet we can try a healthier place.”

“I’m not home, Ron. Don’t even try making a surprise stop. And as much as I try to watch what I eat, I would never give up our unhealthy Saturday brunches.”

“So what gives, B?” A door slams and tires screech as the car pulls out.

“JB went to go get us Pop’s, and I can’t exactly stomach two breakfasts this morning.”

“You skipped out on yoga and brunch for JB?” The mix of hurt and jealousy in Veronica’s tone cuts through the blonde as her throat constricts.

After some moments of silence during which Betty wills her body to cooperate, she chokes out, “I didn’t mean to, Ron. I just ended up at her apartment last night after some shit went down. Needless to say, she’s worried about me, and I can’t just disappear on her while she’s out.”

“What happened?”

Betty swallows. “I can’t explain over the phone. I don’t even know if I can explain all too well in person. But, um, Polly paid me a visit.”

The unmistakable sound of breaks being slammed screams through the phone. Betty can just imagine Veronica’s wild gestures as she urges Smithers to change course. It’s almost enough to make her crack a toothy smile.

“I’ll be right over there.” Veronica’s sharp nails tap on her screen for a few seconds. “Based on my Zapchat map you’re on Sunnyside.”

“Yeah, 14. I’m not sure which apartment exactly. I’m too scared to open the door to find out. Just look for Jones on the mailbox and go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you soon, B. And stay safe.”

Betty unceremoniously drops her phone onto her chest and grips the green fur of the carpet with both fists. When had her life become so complicated? She’d like to trace it back to July 4th all those summers ago. Back when Jason was first deemed dead and the whole of Riverdale spiraled out of control. But if she’s being honest with herself, life has always been messy. Her parents had been in a loveless marriage from the beginning, the Lodges were bribing the mayor (even from behind bars), and drugs were sold around by the Blossoms and their cronies. So really, if she had to choose the main cause of all her (and Riverdale’s) problems, she’d have to pinpoint a generation rather than a day. And yet, for all she knew, they were all victims of the same never-ending cycle. And unless the wheel of destruction stopped, the only way to escape it would be to leave Riverdale. Oh how she had tried. 

“Betty?” The front door slams closed and plastic take-out bags ruffle against each other as they’re dropped on the kitchen counter.

“In here!” she shouts from the floor, eyes shut to keep her head from spinning. 

“Well, come on over. I pretty much bought out the whole diner. Didn’t know what you were in the mood for.”

A pile of food slowly grows on the countertop as JB empties out the bags. Having emerged from the room, the blonde eyes it wearily. “Just some fruit works perfectly well, thanks.”

“I didn’t buy all of this just for you to pick fruit. The saddest of all breakfast foods.” Jellybean drops herself into a bar stool and reaches for the nearest container. Her face lights up when she peels the lid off. “French toast,” she sighs out in anticipation of the sugary food on her tongue. “Go on, pick one. You can’t really go wrong.”

The container closest to Betty ends up being scrambled eggs and toast—a meal that doesn’t register as a complete NO in the Alice Cooper book of healthy eating—so Betty grabs the fork JB is holding out to her and digs in. Hotdog whines from the floor next to the two women and JB rips off a piece of the bacon in another dish before throwing it to him.

“Anything for me?” Betty whips her head around at the voice, surprised she hadn’t heard Veronica open the front door.

“Of course!” JB shouts between mouthfuls of French toast. “I bought way more than necessary, and somebody should eat all this before Jug does. He eats enough as it is.”

“Excuse me?” Jughead pops out from behind the door and Betty jumps, startled. She really should start paying attention to her surroundings more, especially now that her deranged sister is back in town.

“Just letting these two lovely ladies know about your endless appetite. You’re like the real-life embodiment of Scooby and Shaggy.”

“I always did love those two the most out of the whole Scooby gang.” It’s a thoughtless retort, as Jughead is far more focused on Betty. She squirms under his gaze, as if he can read her like a book. And the Jughead from her apartment is back. He’s not asshole Jug from the car or moronic Jug from the book signing or even pitiful Jug from her office. The lines of his face are hardened in concern, and he almost looks like he wants to say something.

But Veronica starts before he can, and Betty’s left wondering what exactly was on the tip of his tongue. “While I appreciate diner food every now and then, I would much rather have a discussion with my best friend right now. In private.” She grabs the blonde’s wrist and drags her to JB’s room, kicking the door close behind them with her heel.

“I know JB’s your friend, Betty, I do. But him? You’re staying in his apartment after everything that went down?”

“He’s actually the one who helped me after Polly stopped by. I was mad at him too, Ron, but it’s the lesser of two evils right now. Three, actually. If you include mom. So I guess I’ll stay with the Joneses for as long as I have to. If they’ll have me, of course. I haven’t exactly talked it through with them.”

Without a second of hesitation, Veronica claps her hands, “Stay with me and Cher. It would be like the Three Musketeers all over again.”

Betty had already weighed the pros and cons of that option—knowing her best friend would offer her apartment up as soon as she heard about Betty’s dilemma—and the con side of the scale had tipped far lower than the pro. “It’ll be more like Han and Leia, with Luke as third wheel. No, thank you.”

“But, B, our apartment is so much safer than this one. While daddy built the Southside apartments to meet Lodge standards, they are most definitely not Pembrooke levels of luxury or security.”

“Definitely not. But I really think this place is best for me. While Jug may have a girlfriend—or boyfriend, what do I know,” she shrugs, “I doubt JB would let them get as loud as you and Cher do. So at least I won’t have to sleep with earplugs in.”

“Ha! Jug hasn’t had a girlfriend since Ethel asked him to junior prom ten years ago.” JB’s laughter comes through the door.

“Shut up and stop eavesdropping,” Jug admonishes from farther into the apartment. Betty imagines he’s eating the leftovers of the girls’ breakfast.

Veronica’s grin splits her face. “Alright, B, I see the appeal of staying here. Maybe you guys could be the new Three Musketeers. Now,” she says a little louder, “since we’re in total privacy and not being listened in on, fill me in on the latest Harley Quinn attack.”

“She can’t be Harley Quinn without a puddin’.”

“Well, her mood swings almost as much as Harley’s bat, and she’s certifiably insane. Anyways, how do you know she doesn’t have a puddin’?”

“I don’t. But what man is going to be the Clyde to her Bonnie?”

“Fine. Does Emma Frost work better?”

“Much.”

“So fill me in on the latest Emma Frost attack.”

 

~~~

 

“If you’re going to eavesdrop, don’t give yourself away by jumping into the conversation. Haven’t I taught you anything?” Jughead grumbles after chewing his pancake.

“I think you’re just upset I told them you haven’t had a girlfriend in ten years. If you could even consider Ethel your girlfriend.”

“We went on a few dates. And why would I care that you told them?”

“Because now you look like even more of a loser than you did before.”

“What else is new?” He shovels another bite of pancake into his mouth and starts reading the ingredients on the back of the Ketchup bottle. A habit JB knows is meant to take his mind off of whatever’s bothering him.

But he needs to start talking and stop sulking, so she brings up the topic that is most likely to have him upset. “How was your meeting with Alice?”

“Fine,” comes the first answer. She knows to wait for the second. He clears his throat. “I mean, she told me not to worry about Betty. That Polly isn’t a threat and that Betty was probably making things up. But I saw her last night, Jelly. And she was so shaken by what had just happened, she couldn’t have made it up.”

“So Alice lied to you. Big whoop. I’m pretty sure we all saw that coming.”

“Yeah, sure. I just don’t understand why. What is she hiding? What’s actually going on with Polly?”

“Sounds like you’ve got some work cut out for you, Poirot. I recommend you start with what you have, and that is an eye witness with a lot of insider knowledge about our two villainesses.” She pats him on the shoulder before joining the women now giggling in her bedroom. He groans as the door slams shut behind her. A red B falls off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did y'all like our longest chapter to date? 4.2K words! Too long? Too short? You tell me...
> 
> Up next: Archie comes to town, and Bughead form the super sleuth duo we all know and love.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! Questions, comments, concerns? Let me know down below.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, all criticisms are appreciated!!!! Thank you for reading.


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